Brienne's night with Jaime
by WolframMatter
Summary: Just finished watching 8x04? These are Brienne's thoughts in that episode, when Brienne/Jaime finally makes canon. She's been waiting for it as long as we have. Includes: a supportive Sansa, a jealous Jaime, and a well-deserved dose of fluff. *spoilers*
1. Chapter 1

It is a night of drinking and sex and appreciating the fact they are alive. So of course Brienne is awkward in the midst of it.

Sansa calls her over, a few drinks in, away from Tormund and Jaime and all the rest of the men she fought beside.

"I'm glad Jaime survived," Sansa says, out the blue, and Brienne feels a rush of awful at the knowledge that with his hand gone, there were so many ways he could have been slaughtered. "The way you stood up for him when he arrived was a little unexpected."

"I owe him my life. He saved me-"

"I know, I know, I know the facts. It was more the way you told them."

"I spoke only the truth."

"Yes, but you looked so interested." Brienne looks into her drink. "Oh god you do fancy him. Are you going to tell him?" Sansa shakes her head at her own question. "Of course you won't."

"Lady-" Brienne can feel the blush heat her cheeks.

"You can call me Sansa, you know. And you can forgive me for being surprised. He's never loved anyone other than Cersei, I shouldn't think."

Brienne nods, eyes now steadfastly on Sansa's. She won't be embarrassed by this. "He's treated me well, for all that. It's not something I can say of many men."

"Yes," Sansa says consideringly, and Brienne is struck again that her Lady has faced cruel men in bed, while Brienne has only had to face them on the field. "Yes I can see that."

Then Sansa nods, and seems to come to a decision. "Well, you best return, I suppose. No need to keep you here. I hope your night is as surprising as this has been." It seems, oddly, like permission, but surely Sansa realises that Brienne's interest is one-sided, and certain to stay that way.

So Brienne walks back across the room, and notices how Jaime's gaze follows her as she does.

She sits with them until Tormund arrives. The giant mentions blue eyes and suddenly a flash of the cold eyes of the dead strikes her. Usually she can block off the memories of war - it's a hazard of the occupation - but this one was so close, and there was no honour in it. You should never have to fight off your own dead comrades.

She excuses herself. Last night was long, and this has been enough as it is. She doesn't need the surprises Sansa wishes her to have.

* * *

Jaime enters her room moments after her - he must have followed the instant she left. She had hoped to be alone, but a fight with him might shake her out of her haze. He always had a way to make her feel.

But then he takes off his jacket as he complains about the warmth of her room. It shouldn't mean anything - it's just a jacket, she's seen him in less, he's seen her in less. He's seen her in dresses in King's Landing and with clothes ripped by battle, and he's never looked all that interested.

But in her rooms, in safety, with just the two of them, she has to force herself not to watch how his muscles move beneath his shirt.

She comments, inanely, on how she builds a fire.

He smirks. "Well that's very diligent, very responsible."

Ah, yes, back to mockery. After the strange politeness of the last few days, it's a relief. Still, she can't let on.

"Piss off."

"You know the first thing I learned in the North?" he asks, stepping close, so they are chest to chest, his breath reaching her face. "I hatethe fucking North."

"It grows on you."

"I don't want things growing on me."

She can't not read a double meaning into that. So she's grown on him, that much was obvious. They are close now, respectful. They would vouch for each other.

But that he doesn't want to care about her… that makes her turn away, until he asks about Tormund.

Because she has always been blunt, never learned games with words, the way he did, the way Cersei did. So when he sounds jealous she calls him out.

He looks confused to discover it. Had he not realised? She had realised how she felt at the worst time: when Cersei had told her you love him, and it had been too much a shock to recover from. Another pointless love like Renly. One, interested only in men, the other, interested only in his sister.

She watches him, a mixture of confused and sceptical, as he tugs at his collar. Is he embarrassed, wanting to leave but doesn't know how to ask? Or is this some weird attempt at seduction, as if she hasn't seen naked men - as if she hadn't had to watch while he pissed when he was her prisoner.

Her hands on his shirt are forceful, quick - she doesn't want this to drag on. Doesn't need to linger on what she can't have.

His hand, touching her shirt, is soft, gentle.

She takes over, because she can't bear for a man to remove her clothes, not even this man, and somehow he watches her face as she does it, she can tell. Is he… does he not want to look? Is he afraid of being disappointed? She doesn't have the curves a woman should.

But he knows that, knows her. The crackling of the fire is loud in their silence. She can hear him breathe, hear her own quick inhales and exhales. She goes for his shirt.

When she tells him she's untouched (which he knows, which he had helped ensure, with those lies about sapphires), he tells her to drink.

Then he doesn't let her even begin to properly argue. His kiss is forceful, immediate, his hand in her hair. Jaime. She wants to speak his name but doesn't want to let go.

* * *

_**Author's notes: **_

I'm interested in continuing this scene (why oh why did they cut away) in the next chapter, but have never written smut. Let me know if you'd be interested!

Disclaimer: GoT is not mine, and there's a lot of canon dialogue in this fic


	2. Chapter 2

They kiss near the fireplace and then on the bed and then when he is lying over her, hips pressed into her own. She thinks, in some distant part of her mind where she can think calmly, that this is it.

But it isn't, or not quite. Because instead he's asking permission and she's saying yes, yes, yes, with increasing impatience because of course he is as annoying and aggravating in bed as everywhere else.

Then he places a finger inside her. She's done this to herself before and she thinks she knows how to handle this, but then he, he curls it, it seems, like he's beckoning her - and gods. He adds another finger, tentatively, only part in, because you're tight he's saying, and she doesn't know what she is but she knows all the blood in her body is rushing towards his beckoning hand.

He takes his fingers out of her for a moment and gives her a wicked grin. "Enjoying yourself, Ser Brienne?" he asks and oh her name on his lips. The best she can do is tug his body towards her to get back to doing everything he was doing, only more.

Then he bends his head down and what is he - oh god she's never even heard of men doing - he's sucking on her down there and she's sucking for breath in loud gasps up here and it comes slowly and then suddenly in a rush.

She gives up all control. Her body jerks and her gasps echo loudly and he gives her one final squeeze with his fingers…

After, he kisses her, long and gentle and just messy enough to be real.

"Did you like it?" he whispers into her ear as her breathing steadies, because he's an arrogant ass and knows. She manages to tamper back the scream of glee as he peppers kisses along her cheekbone and calmly tells him she could get used to it. Her voice is unnaturally high.

Gods, is it possible to get used to that?

She leans back against the pillows. Everything has slowed down a little, languid and gentle in the hot room. She wants him, wants everything, but also needs a second to breathe.

He seems to realise. Maybe this is something women feel, after; she wouldn't know. He gently traces her skin with his gold hand as she recovers. The metal is cold, and she can see goosebumps sprouting on her flesh.

She doesn't ever want him to stop.

His other hand trails down her side now, and she can't help thinking, those fingers were inside me. He licked them but they are still slightly sticky with proof of how much she liked it, and she thinks he might mock her for it, for her desperation, but his eyes are full of something that is like his mockery but not.

"Did anyone ever tell you you're beautiful?" He palms her small breast as he says beautiful. His voice is as slow and warm as the room, as her body.

"Mmm," Brienne says, and it comes out less like sarcasm and more like a moan. She shakes herself out of it. "They usually whisper it before they try to kill me in battle."

He sits up next to her, and she wonders why she had to mention battle in bed. No man wants that. She already misses his hands, which make her body feel so soft. She misses being the type of woman in that brief moment who felt soft to a man.

Jaime's wonderful face is utterly serious. "I should have told you sooner. I shouldn't have - I'm sorry."

She isn't entirely following. "For what? For insulting me?"

"Every single bastard we encountered on that road insulted you, Brienne."

She doesn't want to think of it. She lives with it, everyday, and tonight she just wants this - the immediate, the oh gods Jaime. Doesn't want to delve into history.

And what does he want from this?

Is he sorry his insults made him like every other man? He was the most witty of her critics, if that helped.

It is absurd, she thinks, to have gone from there to here. And yet it also feels strangely inevitable, like they were always heading towards this.

This time it is she who touches him, because she can't think of anything to say that will make sense of the two of them. She rolls them over and kisses down his chest. For the first moment touching him feels awful because what if he looks up and sees he is with the Beast of Tarth -

She has to push through every repeated insult: ugly, freak, monster. Jaime tries to help - reaching for her in return - but she shakes her head. She wants to do this. She wants to initiate, letting him look clearly at her, and know he still wants it.

There's something a little thrilling about a man stripped down, and how clear it is they are enjoying themselves.

So she presses kisses down his body, down chest muscles she has watched for years. She scrapes her teeth near his nipple and is about to apologise but he groans with it so she keeps going, adding little bites in between the kisses, and he's grabbing her hair and murmuring her name.

The path down his body leads where you would expect, and she hesitates for a moment. Then as she is going down to take it into her mouth, he catches hold of her chin. She looks into his eyes, oh those eyes, and he shakes his head gently.

"I thought you'd want…" she says. He smiles, gently, and kisses her once more.

"There's still so much more I want to do to please you," he says, and she doesn't even know how it's possible to respond to that. He's here for her pleasure as much as his own and that goes against everything she had expected when he wandered, a little drunk, into her room.

"I still want you happy," she offers, as she strokes a hand down there and he jerks with surprise and a smile.

"Gods Brienne," he groans, and she's coming to love that groan of his. "I am happy."

"I think I could make you happier," she says, and now it's a challenge to herself. And she's always known exactly what to do with challenges. So she takes his hand and lets him show her how to touch him. She follows his movements and adds some of her own and soon he's groaning louder than she was and calling out her name.

She never expected him to use her name so much - never expected him to be so there with her - had always imagined the man she did this with would use her, a little, as a substitute. But there was no mistaking how he looked into her eyes (so blue, he was moaning out with other nonsense).

As he comes down from it, she kisses his mouth one last time and feels him smiling against her own. She draws back sharply, thinking it might be laughter - and those memories of Hyde still haunt. But he pulls her back down on top of him before she can go far.

"My Lady Knight," he says, in a voice that could conquer nations. She certainly wants to kneel before it. "Be mine?"

"I'm my own," Brienne says, with an edge of apology but not really, wishing men would stop being so ridiculously men.

But Jaime only breathes out in what sounds like relief. And she thinks in a moment of utter clarity, Cersei would have said yes.

Instead Jaime asks in a voice that sounds far less arrogant Lannister, and instead something soft and breakable, "Let me be yours?"

She doesn't trust herself to speak. But she nods, and kisses him again, and curls around him until their breathing slows to something near sleep.

* * *

_**Notes**:_

_Hope you enjoyed my first attempt at smut! I know Brienne's insecurities kept interrupting the fun stuff, but *personal theory* I actually think that's because despite seasons of sexual tension, the sex scene in 8x04 wasn't really built up to in a natural way. They didn't have a real conversation about this before going in, so I tried to have the two of them connecting at a deeper level - and that means insecurities coming to the fore. _

_Or, that's just the way I write because I'm British and awkward ️_

_Let me know what you think! _

_Also I don't have a beta for this GoT series so a) if you find a typo, I'd love to know and b) if you're interested in beta-ing, get in touch xx_


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